


The Fall of Astraea

by snowpuppies



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Angst, Dark, F/F, F/M, Multi, Rape/Non-con References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-23
Updated: 2011-04-23
Packaged: 2017-10-18 13:00:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/189139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowpuppies/pseuds/snowpuppies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One event sends a life spiraling out of control. AU. Begins in 5.21 The Weight of the World.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fall of Astraea

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is inspired by my girls. May they be strong and rise above their circumstances.
> 
> Beta'd by the wonderful Gabrielle. Many hugs, hon! *smish*
> 
> The writer of this fic DOES NOT CONDONE the attitudes, choices, and actions of all of the characters in this story.

  


>   
> She'd struggled—of course she'd struggled—but when up against a sister with Slayer-strength, she knew she was toast.
> 
> So she sat in a counselor's office, arms crossed tightly across her chest, glaring into the brown eyes meeting hers, assessing her posture, her expression.
> 
> "I'm not talking," she grunted, jaw set and teeth clenched.
> 
> "Alright," he replied, voice calm and accepting, and she wanted to hit him.
> 
>   
> "Your sister mentioned you've been having some problems…?"
> 
> "Like she doesn't. Let me guess: _she_ doesn't have an appointment, does she?"
> 
> "It sounds like that makes you angry."
> 
> She snorted. "Damn straight." Scowling, she turned to look at him. "And stop that."
> 
> "Stop what?" he asked, looking genuinely puzzled.
> 
> "Trying to…make nice, or whatever it is you're doing. It won't work."
> 
> "How should I be?"
> 
> "Just…God, stop it!" Her stomach rolled as something white-hot spread across her scalp.
> 
> "Dawn, unless you tell me what I'm doing, I can't stop it."
> 
> "Stop acting like you care!"
> 
> "Ah. Is that what I'm doing?"
> 
> She scowled and didn't answer.
> 
> "And what's so wrong with caring?"
> 
> "Because it's a lie."
> 
> "Hmm." He leaned back in his chair, stroking the white whiskers along his chin. "Maybe." Sitting forward, he tossed the yellow legal pad to the desk, and loosened his tie. "But then, your sister is paying me."
> 
> "Great. Good old Buffy, here to save the day, again."
> 
> "Why is that such a bad thing?"
> 
> She chuckled, the sound hollow and painful, as she slowly met his gaze. "How much time have you got?"
> 
> Eyes flickering to the clock on the desk, he replied, "About forty minutes, give or take."
> 
> She sighed.  
> 

***

  
She trembled, ripping the ugly purple fabric from her body, letting it fall to the floor as she reached for the taps.

The hot water steamed in the cool bathroom and she crawled in, biting back a scream as the water scalded her skin. Whimpering, she pressed herself into the spray, turning to let it hammer against her ass, the backs of her thighs, grabbing the curtain rod as she finished her rotation and felt the cuts along the tender skin of her stomach scream in pain.

Buffy was gone, and it wasn't enough.

  
***

  
They didn't look at her.

Swarmed around her like honey bees, flitting here and there, words delivered in an intricate dance that was like Greek, or ancient Sumerian, or some other language she didn't understand, constantly asking what she'd like to eat or watch or do, but they never, ever met her eyes.

Willow was a whirlwind, cleaning and cooking and organizing and color-coding, tears welling behind her eyes, ready to fall apart at any moment.

Xander's jokes fell flat; he couldn't even convince himself, and after a while, he didn't even try.

Giles…well, when he was around, he hid like a snail, bringing his own shell: a bottle filled with amber liquid, sloshing against the sides like a storm on the sea.

It looked like she felt inside.

Even Tara, Tara who'd always understood her, known what it meant to be on the outside looking in, couldn't look her in the eye.

She was drowning in her own skin.

And they didn't even see.

  
***

  
The tepid water sloshed around her, splashing against her skin as goosebumps rose on her shoulders and neck.

She sat, eyes focused on the endless white of the tiles along the ridge of the tub, dingy grout lines blurring into nothing as her mind drifted away and her body stilled.

The water calmed.

She blinked, vision still blurred; the wall was an endless blankness of white. Clinical. Sterile. Vast and empty and meaningless.

She knew the feeling.

As she continued to stare, one hand slid across her thigh, pruney fingers reaching between her legs into the smooth folds between. She probed inside, feeling the opening part around her digits, how the walls stretched and flexed as they scissored apart.

It felt like someone else's body.

The fingers slid deeper, to the last knuckle.

She wriggled them.

  
Nothing.

  
Slowly, she pumped them in and out, mimicking what she'd learned.

 _rocking, rocking against her…no, no no…not happening, not happening…the rhythm pulsed in her brain…_

  
Still, nothing.

  
Biting her lip, she trailed her other hand up her body, droplets of cooling water slipping back down her belly as she reached to squeeze her nipple. She slid another finger inside, pressing harder, twisting and flexing, her body jerking into motion as hips and thighs began a counter rhythm.

Blood blossomed in her mouth as her teeth sank into her lip, dripping off her chin and into the bath, clouds of pink dissipating with each thrust of her arm.

A fingernail caught inside and she grunted, pushing through the pain as her inner walls rippled and twitched around her.

Breathless, she fell back, head narrowly missing the tap jutting from porcelain, and slumped against the wall.

Her panting breaths echoed through the bathroom as her hand slipped from between her thighs.

  
And still, she felt nothing.

  
Nothing.

  
She blinked the wetness from her eyes.

  
She still felt nothing.

  
***

  
She hated the mirror. Hated the girl staring back: round, blue eyes—too innocent…too innocent by far—pouty lips—kissable, full, pouty lips—shiny, bouncy hair…

 _grimy fingers slid through the silky strands, gently caressing…"beautiful," a whisper…_

Shaking, she reached for the scissors.

A lifeless heap piled on the floor; she swept it up and threw it in the garbage.

  
***

>   
> "Wow. Sounds like you've been on your own for a while."
> 
> "Yeah." She sniffled, wiping a tissue across her nose and rising to throw it away. On her way back, she didn't return to her seat, but slid onto the sofa cushion next to the counselor. "It's hard, being so alone."
> 
> He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and turned his head to catch her gaze.
> 
> "It really is. But you know, Dawn, you don't have to be."
> 
> "No?" She asked, blinking widely, tears rolling down her cheeks.
> 
> "No," he replied.
> 
> "Can I…," she faltered, studying his calm, even features for just a flicker…
> 
> Her fingers slipped across his knee.
> 
> … _there_ …
> 
> The barest hint of heat glimmered behind his eyes.
> 
> "Can I have a hug?"  
> 

***

  
He was kissing her.

He was a Senior…

  
 _wrinkled skin against her own, nails grimy with dirt and blood_

  
A football player…

  
 _bony fingers gripping her hips_

  
And uber-hot.

  
 _smell of decay and ozone, magicks under his flesh, sparking behind his eyes_

  
And he was kissing her. Lips and tongue and teeth and hadn't she fantasized about this growing up? But no, it was nothing like in the movies; she didn't swoon or fall in love or even feel…anything.

But when he paused, fingers raking through her hair, he _looked_ at her, brown eyes raking over her face, down her neck and into the vee of her t-shirt…

  
…and she almost felt _alive_.

Falling back, she let his weight carry her to the seat. Her eyes slid closed as he mouthed down her neck and between her breasts, busy fingers sliding under her top and unlatching her bra with a well-practiced move.

She was floating, far above, and she wasn't Dawn, not anymore, not really. She was something else, something important and special and beautiful, and when he crawled up her body, she wrapped her legs around his hips and let him _in_.

And it felt a bit like love…

  
…a little like hate.

  
***

  
She couldn't breathe, climbing those awful tower steps again, memory flashing against her skin like rain: fear and revulsion and pain, Doc's scratchy voice in her ear, scaly fingers against her skin, Glory's mocking laugh, the sickly-sweet smell of her perfume…

But Buffy needed her.

So she pushed the memories away, and climbed.

Curled up against Buffy's warmth later that night, she sighed.

It would all be alright again, she just knew it.

  
***

  
Each day, she watched as Buffy got up, ate breakfast, went to work, slayed…the blank look never leaving her eyes.

She wanted to _tell_ , so badly—the words clogging in her throat, swirling back down into her stomach, pulsing and angry and desperate. She needed her sister: needed the comfort of a sister's touch, the softness of a sister's voice…

But she bit back the words, time and again…

Buffy couldn't look at her—it was her fault, after all—and she swallowed the urge.

She was a Summers; she'd figure things out on her own.

  
***

  
A laugh erupted from her chest and she rolled back onto the bed.

Janice grinned stupidly, crawling closer, smoking joint in her outstretched hand.

She snatched the blunt away and inhaled, giggling as the fumes slipped from her nostrils and drifted towards the ceiling. It curled like a carousel, round and round and…

Janice reached for the joint, slipping and falling across her stomach with a grunt; She pressed the end of the blunt against Janice's red-stained lips, fingers brushing against the soft skin as Janice sucked down a lungful of smoke.

Pulling the joint away, she slid her fingers into Janice's dark, silky hair, opening her mouth against Janice's lips, breathing in as Janice exhaled.

"Mmmmm….nice." She sighed, sinking into the mattress as Janice pressed down, their mouths meeting again and again.

She was floating.

  
***

  
Giles left.

Not that it mattered.

Not that he was really there, anyway, but…

  
With every day that passed, the walls grew thicker, higher.

And the silence grew louder.

  
***

  
The room was spinning. Spinning.

Spinning.

A dull ache throbbed at her temples and she groaned, face pressed into the cheap poly-blend duvet.

It itched against her nose and she stopped to wonder whose bed it was.

Hell if it mattered, not when the world was tipping on its axis; she dug her fingers into the spread to keep from spilling onto the floor.

The mattress depressed behind her and calloused hands slid up her bare thighs.

"Unh," she grunted, kicking listlessly as her panties were pulled from beneath her skirt, sliding down her legs and away.

She watched as they fluttered across the room like a dove taking flight.

Her legs were being spread apart and she glanced back. It was Tim…? Tommy…? Trent…? Something starting with a "T"…Janice's cousin, if she remembered right.

"What're you…?" she muttered, scowling as her hips were pulled upwards, barely managing to balance on her knees as he crawled closer.

"Hey," he stroked down her bare back—where did her shirt go, again?—and gave her a pat on the ass, "just relax," he continued. "I'll do all the work."

Sighing, she slumped against the mattress as she pressed into her, stretching her wide around his dick.

Blinking at the ugly floral wallpaper, she let the world slip away with the rhythm of his thrusts.

  
***

  
It was beautiful. So beautiful.

 _"…such a pretty girl…so beautiful…"_

Bright red drops sliding down pale skin, splashing onto the tile below, pain and purpose bleeding onto the floor next to her tears.

The razor in her hands was steady as she drew even lines across her inner thigh, milky flesh parting like a sigh.

A dark pool grew across the linoleum, crimson arms stretching out into the grooves, shifting and swirling and alive…

…and she wasn't alone anymore.

  
***

>   
> He was warm beneath her.
> 
> He'd only protested mildly when a simple hug had turned into something more. And then she was curled up in his lap, her head resting against the crook of his shoulder, breath puffing out against his neck.
> 
> "What do you want from our time together, Dawn?"
> 
> "I just want my sister off my back." Sliding a hand up his neck to sink into the coarse hairs at the back of his scalp, she tugged until he faced her. She smirked and rolled her ass against his hips, grinning when she felt him harden beneath his professionally-pressed khaki pants. "And you haven't had pussy this young in thirty years, am I right?"
> 
> "This is very inappropriate, you know." His voice was breathy with want.
> 
> Yeah, she knew what buttons to push.
> 
> "I won't tell. Just a secret between us, right?"
> 
> "Dawn…"
> 
> "Please?" She pressed soft lips against the stubble under his jaw, leaning into his heat and pushing her breasts against his chest.
> 
> He sighed, eyes rolling back in his head as his fingers found the soft skin of her waist.
> 
> "I suppose we could work something out…"  
> 

***

  
"Dawn," Buffy sighed, fingers linking with her own as she pulled them to the sofa and sat, tugging until she did as well. "I haven't…I mean…I haven't been…with it, since I came back, and I know that…"

She listened. Couldn't really believe what she was hearing.

Buffy was looking at her, _seeing_ her…

…and it was what she'd been wanting for months.

  
But somehow, the elation she thought she'd feel at this moment was absent, and a burning itch began crawling up her spine.

  
"…and I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, but I've got myself together now, and…"

  
She flushed, felt herself growing red and pale in turns, blood circling through her body like a tidal wave, building up…

  
"It's gonna be different, now."

  
…and erupting.

  
"Now? _Now_?" The words came pouring from her mouth and she could feel her fingers squeezing around Buffy's, aware in the corner of her mind how her knuckles were growing white, how Buffy was squirming in her grasp. "So, you wanna be here now, huh? Oh, well, that's just great. The World-Ending Buffy Tragedy of the Month is over, so now it's my turn? I've been…I've been…," she faltered, echoes of pain and confusion and wanting so badly for it all to just _end_ circling through her brain. She felt a sob crawling up her throat and bit back against the feeling, gritting her teeth and pulling her hands from Buffy's.

"You know what?" She broke away, launching from the couch and spinning to glare into Buffy's shocked face. "Fuck you, that's what. I don’t need your help, so go save the world again, Buffy, just leave me the hell alone."

Heart thudding in her chest, she stormed towards the door, snagging her purse from the hook in the entryway and stomping out of the house.

The door slammed shut behind her.

  
She really, really needed a hit.

  
***

  
She arched back, muscles in her abdomen flexing as she writhed and jerked against his body.

Jackson was older, his hair shaggy and not exactly clean, and he wasn't the prettiest guy around, but the baggie clenched tightly in his fist made up for his lack of GQ potential.

"Come on," she leaned in, pressing her breasts against his face, then leaning down to lick a stripe up the side of his neck, "just one line?"

The sack slipped from his fingers as the tips sank into her hips, pulling her against him tightly, rolling his hips against her, cock shifting deliciously inside her body.

"Yeah," he breathed, trembling fingers retrieving the blow and pouring out an amount, neatly cutting it into two lines against the top of the dresser.

The itch crawled along her spine as she watched him snort the first line, finger pressing one nostril closed as the fine powder disappeared from the table.

As soon as he pulled away, she was there for her share, grinning wickedly as the high hit and he tumbled them from the lounge chair and onto the floor, fucking rugburn along her back and ass as they slid across the carpet with his thrusts.

  
***

  
She was rolling, lights whirling around her, stars twinkling and everything ugly and bright flashing against her retinas while she laughed.

Small, pale hands grabbed at her arms, bright green eyes wide and fearful.

"Dawn? What are you…? Who are these…?" Willow gestured, trembling fingers pointing towards the crowd—not a one of them less fucked-up than she was, fuck if she remembered all their names, at that—and began tugging her towards the door.

"What the hell, Willow? It's just a little E." She reached back, fingers digging into her hip pocket and pulling out a few tabs. "Want some?"

Willow bit her lip. "Dawn…"

She groaned; of course Willow would be a hard-ass about it. "Come on, lighten up some, Will. Might even make you forget a little while."

Willow's face flushed with anger, and she knew instantly that she said the wrong thing.

"Will…," she called as red hair flashed and Willow stomped towards the exit. "Wait, I'm sorry…" She watched as Willow disappeared, sighing a, "Fuck it," and popping the tabs into her mouth as she grabbed a firm body and plastered herself _close_.

In the back of her mind, she knew the shit was gonna hit the fan, but a couple of shots of tequila later and she couldn't remember anything but the hand up her skirt and the tongue in her mouth.

  
***

>   
> She straightened her skirt and exited the office, rolling her eyes as she barged past Buffy, who stood anxiously and waited for the therapist.
> 
> She rearranged the magazines that Buffy had scattered throughout her wait, ears keenly tuned to the conversation behind her.
> 
> "Is she…?" Buffy trailed off, sounding uncertain.
> 
> "I can't share details, confidentiality considerations, of course, but I think some therapy will help."
> 
> Buffy sighed with relief. "Good. I just…didn't know what to do."
> 
> "It's difficult, I know."
> 
> She stifled a grin as the counselor gave Buffy a pat on the back; she wondered if his fingers still smelled like her.
> 
> "But know that you're doing the right thing, getting her help."
> 
> "Okay." Buffy smiled, turning to walk out of the room, not waiting for her to follow.
> 
> The therapist raised his hand and gave her a little wave. "See you next week, Dawn."
> 
> He winked.
> 
> She turned and followed Buffy, watching her sister's shoulders slump in relief as they left the building.
> 
> She shimmied her hips a little as she walked, still slippery, and the breeze tingled along her bare skin.
> 
> Buffy climbed into the car and Dawn followed her lead, quiet as Buffy paused, keys in the ignition, but the motor still.
> 
> "So, you like him?" Buffy's voice was tentative.
> 
> "Yeah." She shrugged, pulling the seat belt around her body and buckling it. "He's okay."
> 
> "Good," Buffy replied, turning to face the front of the car and grasping the keys. "Good."
> 
> The car started, and they drove away.  
> 

***

  
She slept, curled in a ball, limbs twitching beneath the cool cotton sheets as the memory scrolled across her sleeping mind.

 _Doc's voice was scratchy, his grin terrifying, as he turned towards Glory. "The Key's…vessel…doesn't need to remain… **pure** , does it?_

 _Glory's eyes widened. "You dog, you." She leered. "Not at all. I just need the blood, so…knock yourself out, old man."_

 _"You're too kind, Glorificus."_

 _"Yeah, I'm a regular saint. Now get to it, if you're going to—the ritual starts in three hours."_

 _Doc smiled, turning to take in Dawn's figure, trussed up in the corner. "With pleasure."_

  
 _FIN_.

**Author's Note:**

> **About the Title: Astraea is the Greek goddess associated with innocence and purity. In mythology, she is said to have fled the wickedness of humanity and become the constellation Virgo.
> 
>  
> 
> Originally archived [here](http://snowpuppies.dreamwidth.org/259947.html).


End file.
